


it's creation

by klaviergavout



Series: Prompt Bingo! [1]
Category: Rent (2005), Rent - Larson
Genre: Anthropomorphic Personifications of Abstract Concepts, Art, Best Friends, Canon Compliant, During Canon, Friendship, Gen, Introspection, Kissing, Muses, One-Sided Attraction, Sexuality, mark introspects for twenty minutes straight: the musical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23673040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klaviergavout/pseuds/klaviergavout
Summary: Celebrating with his friends in the early hours of Christmas morning, Mark wonders what it would be like if he had a muse, among other things.
Relationships: Joanne Jefferson/Maureen Johnson, Roger Davis/Mimi Marquez, Thomas B. Collins/Angel Dumott Schunard
Series: Prompt Bingo! [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1704583
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	it's creation

**Author's Note:**

> I'm doing a prompt bingo card to try and encourage myself to write more often and explore fandoms I don't usually dabble in! The prompt I chose for this fic was 'Anthropomorphic Personifications of Abstract Concepts'. Really the prompt should have been 'Mark Overthinks Everything Yet Again'.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Feedback is greatly appreciated <3

It becomes apparent to Mark, in times like these, just how much his art is shaped by those around him. He's so used to watching from behind a camera lens, so used to _observing_ rather than _being_ that he forgets his friends are real people at all, and not just characters in a documentary suited only for being projected onto the wall of his apartment. Perhaps that's because his life has never felt real. It feels _idyllic,_ sat here in the Life Café with a family all his own.

Who knew that moving from the quaint comforts of Scarsdale to wild, bohemian Alphabet City was a _good choice_ _?_ Who knew that life gets better?  That life moves on, even when your friends die around you, even when the world is cruel and money is tight, when the idea of being able to pay off your rent seems laughable?  That he'd live, no, _thrive_ in an environment so far removed from the picture-perfect, conservative Jewish life he'd lived back home?

Mark was always plagued by these questions, but he never asked for answers. He knew he didn't deserve them.  Everyone around him found happiness despite their struggle; Mark found happiness in his struggle. It was if he flourished on being a failure.  'No rules, no restrictions' led  ultimately  to 'no heat, no money' - but he didn't want to care about what  was expected  of him, so he hid behind his camera. Like the homeless woman had said - it killed his guilt, being able to step back from his glaring privilege. But he'd never admit it.

He  was _supposed_ to be Joanne. A successful lawyer with a hot fiancee. His parents had put everything in place for him since before he could walk, and instead he chose to be a filmmaker. Worst of all, he could be a _successful_ filmmaker if he really wanted to. Wasn't that everyone's dream, to earn money doing something they loved? But he didn't love it, not when it meant selling out to a news agency.  Mark hated himself for that sort of selfishness, but it had  been ingrained  in him since the moment he'd moved out, so he thought he might as well  just  shut up and press record.

People always talked about muses. The sources of their inspiration.  It didn't take a genius to figure out who his best friend's muse was - Roger could wax poetic (and often did) about Mimi, with whose help he was  slowly  moving away from Musetta's Waltz and putting together his own song. But what Roger saw in Mimi wasn't the sort of thing that inspired Mark to live this impoverished life. He didn't have a muse to spur him on. He'd given up everything he knew for the sake of his art.

His _art._ What was art, anyway?  To Mark, art was film, art  was laid  out in scene descriptions and 12-point Courier font, art was the hot hot red of a darkroom, art was seeing everything all at once and refusing to engage. But his friends all had it  differently  .  Roger and Angel's music, Mimi's dancing, Maureen's protests, Collins' anarchy - every means of expression was different.

Even Joanne engaged in art. In the canvas of the courtroom, she could paint someone as a murderer, petty thief or tax cheat.  Benny wanted to  _ facilitate _ art, dreamed of one day owning a creative space, but he never got involved in the lifestyle he claimed to respect. Mark thought he was a coward, and also an asshole.

Muses were people. Art was not. It begged the question: if art was a person, who would they be? They  certainly  wouldn't look like him - so _ordinary._ Art was exciting and dynamic and  certainly  not the sort of abstract concept to wear sweaters and scarves and big square glasses.

Mark figured he'd ask the others what they thought of this question.  They were jovial enough to play along, after all, doped up on their third round of wine and beer - besides, they were much more exciting than he was, but he'd keep that fact to himself. He wasn't aiming for a pity party. At least not tonight.

"Focus on Maureen," he began, turning his camera somewhat  hesitantly  towards the sound of soft moans from across the table, "who is busy making out with her Ivy League girlfriend."

Maureen and Joanne were  practically  intwined, legs and arms and hands everywhere - a regular sight these days  . Another pleasure that should have been his.  It made sense why she'd chosen Joanne - he'd always been far too placid for Maureen's contentious nature, rarely daring to disagree with the beautiful, impossible seductress he thought she was. Joanne fell for the bait every time, captious and quick to go on the defensive.  Her words didn't wound Maureen as much as she led everyone to believe; Maureen got off on seeing her partners fired up.  Mark recalled with a wry smile that their more passionate nights (of which there were few) had always kicked off with a heated row.

Back to the present, though. Mark's blasé tone had drawn an offended gasp from Joanne, and Maureen grinned against her lips.

"Fuck you, Mark," said Joanne, but she was smiling now, still gazing at her girlfriend with fire in her eyes. "Maureen's _enjoying_ making out with her Ivy League girlfriend, thank you very much."

"Hey!  Don't put words in my mouth," Maureen piped in, pulling Joanne ever closer, almost  possessively.  Their noses touched, the two of them giggling like schoolgirls before Joanne pressed forward to close the gap between them again.

Mark felt sick. He swallowed spit before putting on his most Buzzline-worthy reporter voice:

"Tell us, Maureen; if art was a person, what would they look like?"

Maureen broke the kiss to scoff at him, eyes focused on his camera now and not her girlfriend. Mark caught the jealous flash in Joanne's eyes, but said nothing. He always said nothing.

"Good Alexi Darling impression, pookie. Almost convinced me you applied for the job!"

Mark gave her the middle finger. Maureen laughed in his face.

"Let's see - she would be sexy. _Real_ sexy. Perfect figure. She'd be super fashionable and unique, the type to set a new trend  just  shopping for groceries." Maureen's eyes flashed with excitement and she grew louder and louder. "Flirting, like, all the time. Men and women everywhere would fall to the ground at her feet!"

Joanne  just  stared at her. "So, you. You're talking about you."

"I'm not done yet!" Maureen snapped back. "Get this. She'd be  totally  into anarcho-feminism and self-ownership!"

"Definitely you," Collins butted in. Angel giggled at his side.

"I am _not_ talking about me! Mark, help, I'm  being bullied." She stuck her tongue out at everyone. "It's not my fault that art is so sexy."

"I think  that art should watch her tone," said Joanne under her breath, pressing a kiss to Maureen's neck.

Mark sighed. They were  just  using his question as a means to an end. Done with their lustful antics, he turned to the second couple on his mind.

"Pan right to Collins and Angel, who are--  surprisingly  quiet," he added with a quirk of his eyebrows.  Those two were always conspiring, and (after Maureen) were definitely the loudest of the bunch.

"What can I say," shrugged Angel with a playful smile. "Those two are great entertainment."

"Oh, one hundred percent," quipped Maureen, shooting Angel a dramatic wink. Joanne shut her up with another kiss.

Mark shook his head, unbothered by his ex-girlfriend's attention-seeking. She'd had her few seconds in the limelight and he wasn't going to waste any more film on her and Joanne canoodling. Instead he moved right along with the questioning: "So, Collins. If art was a person, what would they be like?"

"Broke," said Collins  simply, looking  directly  at the camera.

Angel burst into fits of laughter. "Oh, honey, ain't that the _truth!_ " she cried, slapping him  playfully  on the shoulder. "Broke and queer."

Collins grinned. "Oh, she'd _definitely_ be queer. You know,  I don't think  I've ever met an artist that wasn't. Have you, sweetums?"

"Nuh-uh. Mark?"

"Nope." He shook his head from behind the camera.

"Well, Roger's straight," Mimi supplied. She paused for a moment before looking at him  oddly . "Actually, I don't know. Are you straight? We haven't really had this conversation yet, it's only been a couple hours since we got together, so..."

Roger's lips on her cheek  quickly  silenced Mimi's questions. "Bisexual. With a preference for Mimi," he added  slyly. "And you?"

From across the table, Angel looked at Roger as if he'd gone mad. "Sweetie, she lets  scantily  clad women put her in handcuffs on a nightly basis. What do you think?"

Mimi blushed a little, shaking her head at Angel's frank response. "I'm straight. I guess. I've had a few experiences with women over the years, but I like men a lot more."

"I gathered," smirked the guitarist. His flirting seemed to go over Mimi's head, though - she fidgeted in her seat, eyes downcast.

"You don't mind, do you, Roger?"

Roger leant down and gave her a gentle kiss. "Of course not."

"You might be bicurious, then," supplied Maureen, who had stopped making out with Joanne in favour of chewing on a delicious soy burger. She took a long sip of her milkshake and _ahh'd_ once she swallowed. "If you  just  like to experiment."

Mimi nodded  sagely. "Huh. You learn something new everyday."

"Tell me about it," said Roger, pulling Mimi closer and she all but clamoured into his lap.  Mark groaned and put his camera down, deciding that this line of questioning was enough for tonight.

"What about you, Mark?"

"Huh?" He looked up from the empty pint glass he'd been staring into with slight despair. Maureen was watching him  inquisitively .

"What do you think art is like?" She asked. "Who's your muse?"

_She cares,_ he thought, hope bubbling up inside him and threatening to burst. _She's actually interested in what I have to say._ It took every ounce of strength within him to keep himself from turning bright red and replaying her words in his head over and over like he did his films. Self-control; it was something you had to master when you loved someone like Maureen. Her sincerity came at all the wrong times, always when he least expected it and Mark's heart still ached, even now.

It was a while before Mark could muster an answer, and when he finally decided to speak, he noticed six pairs of eyes looking his way. This was new; behind his camera, he waited for _their_ reactions, not the other way around.  It was jarring to think his opinions actually mattered to someone when all he cared about was capturing everyone else's.

"All of  us," Mark began, too focused on bouncing his knee underneath the table to notice the warm smiles all around him. "Art looks like  all of  us. All the little pieces of our friendship stuck together. That's what I want my film to be. That's art," he said  quietly. " _Our_ art."

Mark usually hated people touching his equipment without asking, but looking back at that moment now, he was glad Collins picked up the camera.


End file.
